Salt, Sweat, Sugar on the Asphalt
by chrissie0707
Summary: The guys add to the road kill population. Only, it fights back. Oneshot response to LJ challenge.


a/n Oneshot response to Found Fic challenge numero quatro. The guys add to the road kill population. It fights back.

* * *

**Salt, Sweat, Sugar on the Asphalt**

Sam had learned pretty quickly the much-hyped 'driver picks the music' rule wasn't all it was cracked up to be, that it applied in reality only to situations in which Dean was said driver – another annoying something he seemed to have picked up from John. When it was Sam's turn to drive, the 'it's my car' rule tended to rear its ugly little head, giving Dean the inherent "right" to override many stations Sam might find that would maybe play something he would want to listen to. Five minutes out of the gas station in Harrisburg and 'Wherever I May Roam' was _still_ playing on the tape deck and louder than it had any right too, especially this late.

Sam watched lines on the road as they zipped past in the beam of the headlights, cracked a stiff muscle in his neck and thought, not for the first time, _how LONG is this SONG?_

To his right, Dean the navigator was rivaling the detested music for Sam's irritation as he scrutinized a road map lit by a mini-Mag in his teeth. "Ah oo shu we're ah th' ight row?" he asked around the flashlight in his mouth. "Ah don' rememma eh eva takin' dis ong ta ge' fwom Raleigh t' Scwanton."

It took a moment and another dozen yellow dashes gone by to process. Sam massaged his left temple. "When have you EVER driven from Raleigh to Scranton?"

"Ull 'ave oo know dat I – SAM!"

He sure understood _that_. The Impala's headlights suddenly fell on wide eyes, creepy orange in the light, much too close, and there wasn't enough time or space to avoid the animal. Mouth an 'o', Sam gripped the wheel and stood on the brakes as though his life depended on it. And from the look in Dean's eyes as he threw his hands on the dashboard, map and flashlight sliding to the floor mat, it just might. Despite the squealing, protesting tires doing sixty to zero in three seconds flat, there was a _thump _and a yelp before the car lurched to a complete stop on the highway.

Over the music, over the rumble of the engine, blood was pounding loudly in Sam's head. He was mildly surprised smoke wasn't surrounding the car, billowing out from underneath all four tires; tires of which he was positive were now removed of all rubber, positive he had laid it all out in that few inches of highway asphalt. Then again, they _might _have been smoking. Hell, _Dean _might have been smoking. Sam was having some serious tunnel vision at the moment, was seeing only the spot directing in front of the hood where the huge dog had just been.

In the passenger seat Dean was having a mild panic attack, fingers THIS close to putting dents in the dash as he gaped at Sam, his eyes full of horror and fury, a combination scary on anyone, lethal on Dean. "Oh my GOD, you hit a dog. With my CAR"

The passenger side door was thrown open with an angry groanfrom both thrower and throwee as Dean practically leapt from the Impala, leaving the door hanging open as he jogged around to the front. He stooped to inspect the fender and grill, all the while muttering curses at Sam, at the dog, at life in general for sending Sam to destroy him.

Sam himself sat still within the safe confines of the Impala, listening as Dean made his deadly promises from outside of the car, loud enough to be heard over the final _yeah yeah yeah's _of the song that was _still on_. Then it was quiet for a blessed moment. He swallowed and flexed his fingers around the wheel, taking the moment to calm his racing heart before he ran a hand through his hair and stepped out of the car, pulling the keys from the ignition.

As soon as Sam opened the door Dean straightened, staring wide-eyed at a spot over Sam's shoulder. "Did you just see that?"

"See what?" Sam jumped in spite of himself, KNOWING nothing was there, and looked at the empty, dark road behind him. The branches of overhanging trees rustled innocently, and other than the soft scrape of leaves there was silence.

"Your driving privileges, blowing away in the wind."

Sam rolled his eyes and swung the door shut. Eyebrows pulled together in worry, he moved to the front of the car, thinking of the injured – probably DEAD – dog he was going to find there. When he stopped near the headlight, however, he could only frown down at the pavement without a friggin' clue as to what was going on. _Huh. _"Hey, Dean – "

"You know what? I think you've lost your _riding _in the car privileges. It's the trunk or the roof, buddy, take your pick. And I think I'm being pretty generous, even letting you in the trunk after THIS – "

"Dean, just shut up for a minute and take a look at this."

The seriousness and hint of alarm in his voice stopped Dean's ranting and he came to stand across from Sam, who was still staring down at the spot where the dog he had hit should have been, blinking as if he could change what he was seeing.

There was no body, only a bloodstain. Dean stood, dumbfounded. "Huh."

Sam frowned and crouched next to the stain, which was peculiarly in the perfect shape of a large, splayed dog. "That's not normal, is it?" Always with the curiosity, his hand drifted in the direction of the pool of blood, fingers stopping just short of touching.

Dean shook his head and glanced over to his right, at the line of trees rustling in the night's cool breeze. He squinted and took a few slow steps down the road, towards the back of the car. He stopped and ran his gaze right to left, eyes widening slightly as they fell on a pair of glowing red eyes within the foliage, fixed and staring right back at him. "Sam."

"I've never seen anything like this, Dean. Never even heard – "

A low, guttural growl – animal, a BIG animal, bigger than the dog Sam had caught a glimpse of – came from the trees. _Definitely _not friendly.

Sam slowly stood, a wary eye on the tree line as he stepped next to Dean, both of them tense. "Demon dog?"

A long, blacker than black nose and snout slowly emerged from between the leaves as the growl intensified, nearly level with Dean's chest. VERY MUCH SO bigger than the dog Sam had caught a glimpse of.

Dean took a slow step back, hand already groping behind him for the door handle. "Demon dog."

Simultaneously they turned and lunged for the car. Sam dove through the open door onto the bench seat up front and Dean jumped into the back. As they pulled the car doors shut behind them Dean slammed a hand down on the lock. Sam glanced sideways at him. "Dude."

Dean's wide eyes darted wildly as he stared out of the window. "Just covering the bases. Damn, did you get a look at that thing?"

Sam rolled his eyes, inching forward to peer out of his own window. "The dog isn't going to – "

The Impala rocked back nearly onto two wheels as the huge-ass demon dog threw itself at the side of the car. Both were thrown back, bracing themselves on the high backs of the seats. "No, you did NOT just do that!" Dean yelled at the animal as its face pressed up against the glass the window across from him.

Seeing Dean's attention was held fully by the freaky demon dog snapping frothy, bloody jaws at the window, Sam quickly moved forward and closed his hand over the lock on his own door. _Just covering the bases._

"Dude. Drive, now," Dean commanded from the backseat, apparently forgetting the new 'Sammy can't drive' rule from only minutes before. "We'll get our shit together and come back in the morning."

Sam scrabbled across the seat to the driver's side, hand going immediately to the ignition before he remembered…_ah, shit._ He patted his pockets, on the off-chance that the Impala's keys _hadn't _been in his hand.

"What are you doing? Drive already."

"Um."

Dean's head whipped over, denial already paling his face. He groaned. "Don't even say it, Sam."

"The keys are – "

"_Sam_ – "

"– kinda…" He gestured across the car, where the ginormous dog continued its relentless attempt to get at the two and tear them apart. Sam could have sworn it was even bigger than the last time he had looked at it.

"Damn it." Dean knocked his forehead against the glass of the window, removing it immediately as a mass of black fur and muscle slammed into the other side. He snarled at the creature. "Of course they're outside."

Except for the part-canine, part-demonic sounds coming from outside the Impala, it was quiet for a moment as both brothers thought things through: Dean about how he was going to kill Sam, Sam about how he was going to escape Dean. The clack and scrape of giant claws against glass brought them back to the actual problem at hand. "Off the car!" Dean shouted.

Sam opened his mouth and turned to Dean, closed it, and opened it again. "So, you know…this whole demon dog thing. Kinda makes this not my fault."

There was no word for the extent of fury in Dean's eyes as his head slowly pivoted. His lip curled. "I'll give you hitting the thing in the first place – but only because there's no damage to the fender. But the keys? You're gettin' those keys. And if there's so much as a single scratch on my – " Suddenly, he squinted, cocked his head. "D'you hear that?"

"No, what?"

"Exactly."

And Sam heard it then, or, didn't: no more snarling, no more barking, no more creaky rocking of the car. After exchanging a look, Sam scooted across the seat, getting as close to the window as he could. "Do you see it?"

"Yeah. These night vision goggles were a great investment."

"Fine," Sam growled, "the next time you want to blow four hundred dollars – that we DON'T HAVE – on something we might never use, go right ahead." Sam leaned back and surveyed the contents of the car: a few crumpled napkins, probably at least one phone number, not really helpful; a half-eaten bag of Cheetos, even less helpful; a couple of motel hand towels, grabbed in haste to staunch the flow from cut that had accompanied the week-old bruises still faintly visible on Dean's face; two empty cans of Red Bull; the map and flashlight. Sam patted his pockets again, located his phone in his left front pocket and pulled it out.

"Oh, great idea. Let's throw your phone at it."

Sam glared, thumbing through the address book. "I'm calling Bobby."

"Even better."

"Bobby, hey. Yeah, no, everything's fine. We're just, uh, just having a bit of a situation here – "

"Hey, tell him about the time you hit the undead demon dog with my car." Made sure he said loud enough that Sam didn't have to say anything.

Sam, rendered speechless once again by Dean's perpetual immaturity, gaped wordlessly at his big brother, eyebrows pulled together. He shook his head and redirected his focus to the amused man on the other end of the line. "No, it's not an undead demon…it's a – I don't actually know what it is. Yeah, it just kind of…appeared in the middle of the road. Uh huh. Uh huh." Sam met Dean's eyes. "Bobby says to try iron rounds."

"Awesome," Dean said, turning to face Sam, "considering all of the iron's in the trunk."

"What? Well, we're, uh, in the car. The keys aren't. Yeah." Sam nodded along with whatever Bobby was saying on the other end. He looked back over to Dean. "He says don't let it get in the car." He listened for a moment longer. "And don't let it bite you."

"Man's a friggin' genius," Dean muttered, pressing his face against the glass. It still seemed quiet out there. Dean gripped the window crank and tentatively cracked the window. "I don't think it's out there anymore." His hand moved down to the handle and Sam's arm shot out, stopping him.

"Wait, wait, wait. Dean, just – wait," Sam covered the phone and implored with wide eyes until he was satisfied that Dean wasn't going anywhere for at least another minute, then he moved his mouth back to the cell phone in his hand. "Bobby, I'll call you back after we get the thing, okay?" He disconnected the call and brought his phone down. Dean was still waiting, frozen with his fingers gripping the handle. Sam took a breath. "I'll get the keys. And the gun from the trunk. I was the one who – "

"Sammy, why don't you just sit here, shut up, and try not to do anything else stupid, okay?" And without another word Dean did something else stupid: he swung the door open and stuck his leg out.

The ever-growing dog thing was there instantly. It came from their left, slammed the whole of its weight against the open door, which creaked and moved with the massive dog, smashing into Dean's calf before he could pull it back, pinning him between the door and the body of the car. The howl that came from Dean's mouth was eerily similar to the one that came from the creature. He fought the weight, tried to shove it away, but the dog only forced itself harder against the door, fighting to get to Dean and not giving him enough room to extract his leg.

Sam reacted immediately as the door hit Dean's leg again, fumbled the glove box open and shoved papers and IDs out of the way until his fingers found the S&W there, the whole time thinking, _why didn't we do this in the first place?!?_ He swung around, saw his own door was unopenable due to the colossal animal bouncing around outside of it, and pumped the window crank for all he was worth. As soon as he had the space he got his left arm out of the window and emptied half the magazine into the dog.

Barely hurt it, if at all. Pissed it off, though, and it backed off enough for Dean to scoot back and drag his leg into the car. Sam stretched over the back of the seat and pulled the door shut as Dean collapsed onto his elbows, eyes squeezed shut.

Sam watched as those red eyes flashed at him and the animal stalked back into the trees. "It's as big as a fucking bear, Dean." _Wasn't that big before…was it?_

"You don't say," Dean huffed out, in obvious pain.

"Damn." He looked down at the gun in his hand and tossed it aside. "You okay?" Sam bent over the bench seat and attempted to pry Dean's hands away from his leg, something that just wasn't happening.

Dean yanked his leg away from Sam's hands with a wince. "Mmm hmm. Good."

Sam sat back, shaking his head. "That was really stupid, Dean."

"What was I supposed to do? Did you want to just sit here in the car all night?"

"No, but you could have gone out the other side."

Dean blinked blankly at him, and then looked slowly at the door on his left. "Huh."

Ten minutes and one heated argument later, Sam was handing the pistol over to Dean. His leg was bruised as hell already, was black and blue and every shade in between, but there was minimal bleeding around the cut and both had agreed that there was no fracture. That didn't mean he was ready to be putting any weight on it, though, and sure as hell wasn't going to be able to outrun the dog more than a step if he had to, so Sam would be getting the keys and the shotgun from the trunk.

"Okay, you've got five bullets left-"

"Thank you, Sam, I think I know my own gun. And how to count."

"This is gonna have to go quick. I think it's watching us."

Dean grunted as he adjusted his position in the seat, turning so he could get a shot off through the window.

"Your leg okay?"

Without a word Dean brought the gun up and leveled the barrel at Sam's face. Sam brought his hands up. "Okay, you're okay."

Dean let the gun fall back to his side and leaned against the door, raising his eyebrows at Sam.

"Okay." Sam took a breath, prepped himself.

"This is the most ridiculous thing we've ever done," Dean muttered, cranking down the window so he could cover Sam as he groped for the keys on the asphalt.

"Just don't let me get eaten by the demon dog, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah."

The key gropage went well. Sam was a little wary about popping open the door and sticking his arm out to feel around on the ground for them, so he followed his own suggestion and went out the other side of the car. Once outside of the Impala, Sam stood and waited for the attack, one hand on the door. But it didn't come, and Sam started around the front of the car, keeping his ears perked and his eyes open, focused on the trees. He made it around to the passenger side and stooped quickly, sweeping a short arc with the flashlight Dean had had in the front seat. The whole time Dean had one eye on the trees and one on Sam, gun out and ready.

Sam found the keys poking out from under the car; must have dropped them when he jumped in. He snatched the key ring and stood, waving them in front of the window so Dean could see.

"Take forever, why don't ya?"

"Shut up," Sam hissed, even though he figured it didn't matter if they were quiet or not; the dog was watching them and they both knew it.

Dean started to open the door and Sam stuck a hand out and gripped the frame, stopped him from opening it further. "What are you doing?"

"I'm not gonna be able to see you once you get around to the trunk."

"Then I'll be quick, because you're not getting out of this car." He pushed on the door until it clicked closed and jogged around to the trunk, knowing that Dean would take the thing out if it came after him.

He jammed the key in and popped the trunk, staring at the handful of guns laid out before him, trying to remember which one was the rock salt and which had the iron rounds and which one propped up the lid; he was in a hurry and he wasn't Dean.

"Sam!" Multiple shots followed Dean's shout, but Sam wasn't paying enough attention to count them.

He grabbed one of the guns and spun, only to have it knocked away by a nose or a paw or something else big and black. The shotgun clattered to the ground and elicited the shout, "Not that one!" from the car.

"Stay in the car!" Sam shouted back. He did the only thing he could think to do – he punched the dog in the face. And, much to his surprise, it worked. As big as it was, the dog yelped and back up enough for Sam to grab another gun. This time when he spun around he was knocked to the ground along with the gun.

As he went down he brought the gun and his head up, shot the dog up before he hit the ground, and the thing landed on top of him. All of the air rushed out of his lungs in a wheeze and Sam wriggled out from under its considerable weight. He leaned against the back bumper and stared at the giant corpse, breathing hard.

"Sam?"

"It's dead."

Sam pulled away from the car and stood, dragging the gun up with him until a second "_Sam_" had him bringing it up off of the ground. After the shotguns were back in its proper place, after the demon dog thing's corpse was nothing more than a smoking pile of ash on the shoulder, after the trunk was shut and locked, Sam moved back to the driver's side. He wrenched the door open and fell into the seat. He put an arm up on the seat and looked behind him, got the 'I'm okay' nod from Dean and nodded back. He put his hands on the steering wheel. "So…"

"What?"

"Am I allowed drive the car now?"

Dean tossed the pistol back up to the front seat and, hand clamped down on his calf, leaned back and glared for all he was worth.


End file.
